«One more thing,» the Claw said, his eyes on the merlons above the gate, «just a bone I'll throw you in case Oponn's smiling on you. The High Mage Tayschrenn's running things here. Dujek's not happy, especially considering what happened with Moon's Spawn. It's a bad situation between them, but the High Mage is relying on his being in close and constant communication with the Empress, and that's what's keeping him on top. A warning, then. Dujek's soldiers will follow him: anywhere. And that goes for the Fifth and Sixth Armies, too. What's been gathered here is a storm waiting to break.»
Paran stared at the man. Topper had explained the situation, but Paran had dismissed the man's assessment-it had seemed too much like a scenario devised to justify the Empress filling the gallows. Not a tangle I want to get involved in. Leave me to complete my single task-I desire no more than that.
ks *w-i VwSseA XT&wtvt UwN %'?6Ve- tverby, Tayschrenn just watched us arrive. Any chance he knows you, Captain?»
«No.» I hope not, he added silently.
As they trotted into the city proper and a wall of sound rose to meet them, Paran's eyes glazed slightly. Pale was a madhouse, buildings on all sides gutted by fire, the streets, despite being cobble-heaved in places and dented in others, were packed with people, carts, braying animals and marines. He wondered if he should start measuring his life in minutes.
Taking command of a squad that had gone through four captains in three years, then delivering a mission that no sane soldier would consider, coupled with a brewing firestorm of a large-scale insurrection possibly headed by the Empire's finest military commander, against a High Mage who looked to be carving his own rather big niche in the world-all of this had Paran feeling somewhat dismayed.
He was jolted by a heavy slap on his back. The Claw had moved his horse close and now he leaned over.
«Out of your depth, Captain? Don't worry, every damn person here's out of their depth. Some know it, some don't. It's the ones who don't you got to worry about. Start with what's right in front of you and forget the rest for now. It'll show up in its own time. Find any marine and ask direction to the Bridgeburners. That's the easy part.»
Paran nodded.
The Claw hesitated, then leaned closer. «I've been thinking, Captain. It's a hunch, mind you, but I think you're here to do some good. No, don't bother answering. Only, if you get into trouble, you get word to Toc the Younger, that's me. I'm in the Messenger Corps, outrider class, the Second. All right?»
Paran nodded again. «Thank you,» he said, just as a loud crash sounded behind them, followed by a chorus of angry voices. Neither rider turned.
«What's that you said, Captain?»
Paran smiled. «Better head off. Keep your cover-in case something happens to me. I'll find myself a guide, by the book.»
«Sure thing, Captain.» Toc the Younger waved, then swung his mount down a side-street. Moments later Paran lost sight of him. He drew a deep breath, then cast his gaze about, searching for a likely soldier.
Paran knew that his early years in the noble courts of his homeland had prepared him well for the kind of deception Adjunct Lorn demanded of him. In the past two years, however, he had begun to recognize more clearly what he was becoming. That brash, honest youth who had spoken with the Empress's Adjunct that day on the Itko Kanese coast now gnawed at him. He'd dropped right into Lorn's lap like a lump of unshaped clay. And she had proceeded to do what she did best.
What frightened Paran most, these days, was that he had grown used to being used. He'd been someone else so many times that he saw a thousand faces, heard a thousand voices, all at war with his own. When he thought of himself, of that young noble-born man with the overblown faith in honesty and integrity, the vision that came to him now was of something cold, hard and dark. It hid in the deepest shadows of his mind, and it watched. No contemplation, no judgement, just icy, clinical observation.
He didn't think that that young man would see the light of day again.
He would just shrink further back, swallowed by darkness, then disappear, leaving no trace.
And Paran wondered if he even cared any more.
He marched into the barracks that had once housed Pale's Noble Guard. One old veteran lounged on a nearby cot, her rag-wrapped feet jutting over the end. The mattress had been stripped away and tossed into a corner; the woman lay on the flat boards, her hands behind her head.
Paran's gaze held on her briefly, then travelled down the ward. With the lone exception of the veteran marine, the place was empty. He returned his attention to her. «Corporal, is it?» The woman didn't move. «Yeah, what?» «I take it,» he said drily, «that the chain of command has thoroughly disintegrated around here.»
Her eyes opened and managed a lazy sweep of the officer standing before her. «Probably,» she said, then closed her eyes again. «You looking for somebody or what?»
«I'm looking for the Ninth Squad, Corporal.»
«Why? They in trouble again?»
Paran smiled to himself. «Are you the average Bridgeburner, Corporal?»
«All the average ones are dead,» she said.
«Who's your commander?» Paran asked.
«Antsy, but he's not here.»
«I can see that.» The captain waited, then sighed. «Well, where is this Antsy?»
«Try Knobb's Inn, up the street. The last I seen of him he was losing his shirt to Hedge. Antsy's a card-player, right, only not a good one.» She began picking at a tooth at the back of her mouth.
Paran's brows rose. «Your commander gambles with his men?»
«Antsy's a sergeant,» the woman explained. «Our captain's dead. Anyway, Hedge is not in our squad.»
«Oh, and what squad is he with?»
The woman grinned, swallowing whatever her finger had dislodged.
«The Ninth.»
«What's your name, Corporal?»
«Picker, what's yours?»
«Captain Paran.»
Picker shot up into a sitting position, her eyes wide. «Oh, you're the new captain who's yet to pull a sword, eh?»
Paran grinned. «That's right.»
«You got any idea of the odds on you right now? It doesn't look good.»
«What do you mean?»
She smiled a broad smile. «The way I pick it,» she said, leaning back down and closing her eyes again, «the first blood you see on your hands is gonna be your own, Captain Paran. Go back to Quon Tali where it's safe. Go on, the Empress needs her feet licked.»
«They're clean enough,» Paran said. He was not sure how to deal with this situation. Part of him wanted to draw his sword and cut Picker in half.
Another wanted to laugh, and that one had an edge of hysteria to it.
Behind him the outer door banged open and heavy footsteps sounded on the floorboards. Paran turned. A red-faced sergeant, his face dominated by an enormous handlebar moustache, stormed into the room. Ignoring Paran, he strode up beside Picker's cot and glowered down at her.
«Dammit, Picker, you told me Hedge was having a bad run, and now that bow-legged turd's cleaned me out!» «Hedge is having a bad run,» Picker said. «But yours is worse. You never asked me about that, did you? Antsy, meet Captain Paran, the Ninth's new officer.»
The sergeant swung around and stared. «Hood's Breath,» he muttered, then faced Picker again.
«I'm looking for Whiskeyjack, Sergeant,» Paran said softly.
Something in the captain's tone brought Antsy around. He opened his mouth, then shut it when his eyes caught Paran's steady gaze. «Some kid delivered a message. Whiskeyjack trooped out. A few of his people are at Knobb's.»
«Thank you, Sergeant.» Paran walked stiffly from the room.
Antsy let out a long breath and glanced at Picker.
'Two days,» she pronounced, «then somebody does him. Old Rockface has already laid twenty to that.»
~&'vsj — , txpits~xlon ~xglrixtnt& «Si~-mdVxngW'tX % ine- t1rive ~, ~Dt a &amue~L shame.»
Paran entered Knobb's Inn and stopped just inside the doorway. The place was packed with soldiers, their voices a jumbled roar. Only a few showed on their uniforms the flame emblem of the Bridgeburners. The rest were 2nd Army.
At a large table beneath an overhanging walkway that fronted rooms on the first floor half a dozen Bridgeburners sat playing cards. A wideshouldered man whose black hair was braided into a pony-tail and knotted with charms and fetishes sat with his back to the room, dealing out the cards with infinite patience. Even through the high-tide roar Paran could hear the man's monotone counting. The others at the table deluged the dealer with curses, to little effect.
«Barghast,» Paran murmured, his gaze on the dealer. «Only one in the Bridgeburners. That's the Ninth, then.» He took a deep breath, then plunged into the crowd.
By the time he arrived behind the Barghast his fine cloak was drenched with sour ale and bitter wine, and sweat cast a shine on his forehead. The Barghast, he saw, had just finished the deal and was setting down the deck in the table's centre, revealing as he did so the endless blue woad tattooing on his bared arm, the spiral patterns marred here and there by white scars.
«Is this the Ninth?» Paran asked loudly.
The man opposite the Barghast glanced up, his weathered face the same colour as his leather cap, then returned his attention to his cards.
«You Captain Paran?»
«I am. And you, soldier?»
«Hedge.» He nodded at the heavy man seated to his right. «That's Mallet, the squad's healer. And the Barghast's name is Trotts, and it ain't because he likes jogging.» He jerked his head to his left. «The rest don't matter-they're Second Army and lousy players to boot. Take a seat, Captain. Whiskeyjack and the rest been called out for the time being. Should be back soon.»
Paran found an empty chair and pulled it up between Mallet and Trotts.
Hedge growled, «Hey, Trotts, you gonna call this game or what?»
Releasing a long breath, Paran turned to Mallet. «Tell me, Healer, what's the average life expectancy for an officer in the Bridgeburners?»
A grunt escaped Hedge's lips. «Before or after Moon's Spawn?»
Mallet's heavy brows rose slightly as he answered the captain. «Maybe two campaigns. Depends on a lot of things. Balls ain't enough, but it helps. And that means forgetting everything you learned and jumping into your sergeant's lap like a babe. You listen to him, you might make it.»
Hedge thumped the table. «Wake up, Trotts! What are we playing here?»
The Barghast scowled. «I'm thinking,» he rumbled.
Paran leaned back and unhitched his belt.
Trotts decided on a game, to the groans of Hedge, Mallet and the three 2nd Army soldiers, since it was the game Trotts always decided on.
